


Confessions

by eaudetoilettex



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Confessions, F/M, Rivetra Week, fallrw2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 13:23:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5129150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eaudetoilettex/pseuds/eaudetoilettex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you like my mother?”<br/>He feels the remaining from the coffee he’s tasted writhing on his stomach, and the awkward silence at the sudden realization of what his few, yet direct words wanted to imply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> Fall Rivetra Week 2015, day six.

In a house in which walls are painted of a soothing tone of pale coral, adorned by different kinds of paintings, and a antique wood piano that hold its yellowish keyboard placed on a corner of the living room, a man decided to stay for helping a child on his homework, rather than coming back to an office that crams him with paperwork and signatures to approve every day.

It’s a quiet home, in which only few visitors appear during certain times, with a delicate essence of life and freedom that welcomes them each time they arrive.

The sound coming of the razor from the scissors that cut pieces of paper precisely—but careful enough of not cutting a little longer than the dotted line is somewhat unusual for a man like him, but he’s got to admit it that it soothes him in a certain way, at least for a few minutes. He takes a glance at the little boy who sits in front of him, focused on his homework as a normal kid around his age does, and he can’t help but let his mind wander—in seek for a proper word that describes the young, yet carefree soul.

He’s a child of wonders. With the striking resemblance of his father—golden locks trimmed neatly in bangs, blue orbs of an undeniable brightness mixed with innocence and purity, it’s easy to conclude he is a version of what his longtime friend Erwin Smith might’ve been when he was a child of seven years old.

There’s a word that he tries to define on his mind, reminders of prizes and medals hanging triumphal around the shelf of the living room, and those fleeting memories of what he’s seen, hints him for  _that_ particular word he wants to find.

 _Wunderkind_. He repeats the word on his mind, memorizing it, feeling its weight as he repeats it mentally a few more times. A child of wonders.

Armin is one of them.

Yes. He is.  _He is._

“I think these are enough.” The man places a hand on three pieces of paper, dragging them across the table so the child could reach them with his fingers.

“Thank you Mr. Ackerman.” Replies Armin with a gentle smile, taking two pictures on his hands, a subtle frown forming on his face as he analyzes with curiosity which one he should choose. “This picture doesn’t fit, does it?”

“Choose another one, take this.”

Armin’s tiny hand brushes his gently for a moment, as the piece of paper lies next to his school belongings. He can hear the soft way of breathing of the child, while he smears gingerly the picture with a glue stick, pressing it around the rectangular frame drawn on his notebook.

“Mr. Ackerman, can I ask you a question?” He has a strange pattern of making questions to people—especially those who peak his interest, some say due of his analytical perspective of seeing things, others because he finds amusing the way of tricking minds, but as his grandpa told him twice—of perhaps  _thrice_ , he’s been curious by nature.

“Speak, kid.”

“Do you  _like_  my mother?”

He feels the remaining from the coffee he’s tasted writhing on his stomach, and the awkward silence at the sudden realization of what his few, yet direct words wanted to imply.

“She’s  _okay_.” It’s a strange answer—even for him, a dubious tone escaping from his lips, feeling somewhat taken by surprise. His relationship with Petra has been a peculiar one since the beginning, being frequently at odds due of different perspectives and personalities, and the conflicting internal battle of how a woman like her—headstrong by nature, bossy and particularly defensive on her opinions, could turn out into the kindest woman he’s ever met. Adored and loved by many, it was simply illogical to him. Until work got way too much into the pressure of looking for answers and conclusions, it was the time in which he discovered her true self.

Petra Ral was one of those women who were born to change lives—not living with the purpose of making friends and acquaintances everywhere, but to simply shine with gentle smiles, and encouraging words towards people who need it. And that’s when he realized he wanted to know  _more_  about her.

“Mommy is really pretty, isn’t she?”

The blonde child must have smiled with amusement at his companion’s perplexed expression, because all he could think was what kind of misconception he had for her from the beginning. Perhaps it was the simple idea of  _her_ , being estranged from someone he used to consider as a close friend, or the fact that her face was too round and rosy for his liking, or  _how_  her locks used to glimmer each time the sun reflected its glow around her, unsure if her color had a glint of blonde around that hair of copper he’s grown to decipher.

“Yeah, she is.”

She was more than a pretty face. Mixed with her loving nature and sympathetic laughter, there was a strong woman that has been trying to build a normal life for her and the little child he’s gotten to see during several times—way  _too often_  since four months ago. It’s even more surprising, how well he and Armin—or  _lemonhead_  as he sometimes tries to tease him, even though he’s known of carrying abrasive words and cold stares—have learned to develop a friendly relationship between a man like him, and a kid that has been alive for years that can be count with the fingers of its hands. Even if he didn’t find interesting the idea of treating kids as individuals at some point of his life, now it’s the opposite.

“So, that means you  _like_  her.”

“Tell me  _lemonhead_ , since when we’ve gotten  _used_  to personal questions?” He crosses his arms in response, looking skeptically at the young boy he’s considering as a peculiar friend.

Armin’s answer was one of those replies that he would never forget for a long time, cherishing the memory as how thick is the distance between a child’s response than an adult’s one.

“Mommy looks happy when you come to visit us, Mr. Ackerman.” Blue eyes twinkle hopeful as if a happy thought replays on his infantile mind. “And I think this house needs a  _papa_ , so we won’t feel alone anymore.”

Finding loss at his words, Mr. Ackerman—Levi, a way too different man from Petra’s first choice of a potential lover, prefers to glance at the boy’s notebook. His homework is already done, and he feels a foreign feeling of relief, unsure of the dangers of getting  _too close_  on this heartbroken little family, but he has  _fallen_  on the rabbit hole, and aside of feeling trapped due there’s no turning back—in breaking a _brother’s_  trust he’s considered since more than a decade,  _something_  ignites him to help them, to wrap them with his cloak of protectiveness and care, to cherish them as the family he’s never used to think, but that; at this precise moment, wants it more than anything he’s ever desired in his life.

“I got your point, kid.” Levi leaves a tired sigh, looking at the little mess they have left on the table, and thinking how much his mother hates disorder on the dining room, so he orders him to wash his hands first.

“I still want an answer Mr. Ackerman.” Armin manages to insist for the last time, hearing a door opening at the distance, gentle footsteps against the wood floor that come from a lovely woman of short height and copper—dazzling locks that shine against the sun.

“We’re friends, Armin.”

_For now._


End file.
